Lost
by Destiny Kitty
Summary: Life could have been so different for Jack.


**Disclaimer:** Disney owns Jack/Francis, and the rest of the characters are my own inventions.

In case you don't know, Francis Sullivan is Jack's real name.

**-------------------Lost------------------**

_Boy, age 11, skinny, brown hair/eyes. Name: Francis Sullivan._

_If found, please contact Thomas McKenny, 255 Broad St., NYC._

I never understood my sister Bonnie and her hell-bent ways, pardon my expression. She always insisted on having things that hurt her in the end. Her marriage to that Fritz Sullivan was no different.

We told her he was a drunk, a thief, a no-good, but did she listen? No, Bonnie was convinced by his sweet talking and flattery that she could save Fritz from himself. She believed everything he said. Even after they were married she defended him against all insults from our family. I tried to get my parents to not take it so hard and get her to stop taking their ill-expressed concern so badly, but eventually she refused to see us anymore.

Only then did we find out she was pregnant, but she would not reconcile with the family. She sent back the gifts we tried to give her as well as all offers of help.

It was over a dozen years before I heard of Bonnie again. In that time, my husband Tom was prospering in business and we had a son. Sadly, my little Whitney was the only child with whom we were blessed, despite my love of children and my wish to be a mother of several.

The Lord has his ways, I suppose.

Tom found out at the legal office where he works about where my sister's decision had led her: she was murdered by her own dear husband. Fritz was most likely drunk at the time, but surely that is no excuse for such a crime. I was distraught, having my hope to reunite with her so completely ruined. I loved my sister, despite her bad choices and her fight with our parents. My husband Tom comforted me by promising that he would help my father prepare a proper funeral, and – joy battle sorrow! – that we could adopt my sister's children, if she had any.

I flew around the house that night, preparing room for more children. My sister had been pregnant at our last meeting, after all. Surely we would expand our family by at least one. Whitney shared my excitement when I told him he would soon have a brother or sister or both, and he helped with my preparations as Tom searched for Bonnie's home and made arrangements with my father.

The place he found was in a miserable part of the city. I clutched Whitney close for his protection and my comfort as we rode past filth, disease, noise, and the most horrible conditions. Drying laundry blackened with soot in the dirty air and street children stopped their games in the mud to stare as we passed. The cab driver pulled his horse to a stop in front of a ramshackle apartment building, and Tom asked him to wait for us. My hand shook as Tom helped me out of the carriage.

Just as appalling and dirty were the inside of the building and its inhabitants; the landlady was no exception. I imagine she was expecting us after of Tom's inquiry of Bonnie, but she certainly had made no attempt to clean herself. This awful woman led us up three rickety flights of stairs before pushing open a door off the hallway.

The room was dark, for the windows were covered, and smelled of beer and worse. In the middle a bed was pulled out of place and covered by a sheet. I was not prepared for the scene and caught my breath in an audible gasp.

The noise startled the other occupant of the silent room. A dark-haired boy of about eleven appeared suddenly from the floor behind the bed, breathing quickly at being aroused from a shallow sleep by the unexpected sound. Tear-stained brown eyes darted, frightened, from one to another of us as I realized that he perhaps did not know of our existence. It would be typical of my sister to never mention her family, in spite or in revenge.

I was about to speak when the landlady broke the silence. "Francis, these fine people are here to take you away with them."

The boy, my nephew Francis, started to his feet at this explanation and backed away even as I stepped forward, hoping to alleviate his fear. "Please, child, I'm-"

"No! I won't go to an orphanage, you can't make me!" he cried out, clearly distraught. As I again desperately tried to explain the situation, he turned tail and disappeared out a broken window that had been covered with a thick, ragged sheet.

Whitney and I ran to the window, pushing away the hanging fabric as Tom broke for the door, hoping to catch the boy below. But once again that horrible woman interfered, screaming after the boy, "Francis Sullivan, you get back her this minute!"

He didn't even look back as he shimmied down the side of the building and ran across the street. We pointed frantically in his direction as Tom appeared out the front door, but it was a fool's hope to think he would find the boy alone.

Tom did everything he could think of after that, both helping with the funeral and keeping me from loosing myself in grief. We even ran an ad in all the papers, but nothing turned up. I had always hoped to someday reunite with Bonnie, but now it could not be. Now both my sister and her son were lost to me.

Tom reassured me that even though we could not find my nephew, there was no reason we could not adopt. This happy resolution revived my spirits, giving me new enthusiasm.

We decided that it would be best to find children younger than Whitney, who was nine. Our first adopted child was a five-year-old named Marian, a sweet little girl with dimples and an endless sense of wonder. Whitney was very good with her, so Tom said we could continue building up our family. After all, he could afford to support more children, and it made me so happy to take care of them.

There was a baby left at the orphanage just after birth, a tiny girl whose smile when I first saw her simply melted my heart. We named her Bonnie after my dear tragic sister and I tried to make up for any neglect she may have suffered in the first month of her life.

Tom pointed out that we should find a brother for Whitney, once Marian and little Bonnie had been settled into our home for a few months. I agreed, for that would give us the perfect family of six, and happily returned once more to the orphanage. There were always many children there, and I saw many boys before finding one who I felt most needed a family.

He was moody, thoughtful, and uncommunicative while all the others tended to be boisterous and active even when told to stand still. His persistent silence spoke to a strong sense of loss while the attitude of his downcast dark-haired head reminded me immediately of my missing nephew.

I met with him alone in an office of the orphanage, and since he would not look up I knelt before his chair, taking his cold hands in my own. I talked to him for a long time, receiving nods and one- or two-word answers, finding that his name was James, he was eight and he had lost his mother several years ago. But when I asked if he would like a new home and mother, he would not answer for a long time. Finally, he looked up at me and nodded.

It was the night I brought James home that I heard again of my lost nephew. Tom said that Francis was following his father's steps and was now in jail for theft.

I was upset, but not only because the boy was ruining his life as had his parents. My wish to save him from such a life and raise him in a good home would not to be, by his own choosing. I had the joy of four children to bring me peace and comfort, so I could not dwell on my sorrow. But I pray for him continually, hoping he will save himself. Who can say what will happen? I'm sure he would have been better off with us.

Life could have been so different for him.

------------fin------------


End file.
